


Freestyle

by ShadowsOffense



Series: Arlathan's din'anshiral AU [8]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, But I'm borrowing those too, Cannon characters that are basically headcannon OCs, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/F, I Don't Even Know, Other, but none of us own anything anyway, other people's ocs, with permissions from the other fanfic authors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 07:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8835088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowsOffense/pseuds/ShadowsOffense
Summary: Ok, there is a lot of background stuff to read, written by other authors, if you want to try this series.  It's really good, so by all means go for it.  But don't start here.  You will be very, very lost.  Read at least the first few chapters of Feynite's Looking Glass and then some of the Baby!Lavellan AUs.  Readers' choice, but my favorite, obviously, is the Mana'Din AU... and the Sharkbait AU... and Aili in several AUs... and....  Yeah, just check all of that out first.  You can work your way back to this one.  In a few months.  Probably.Otherwise, please, skip this series.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Feynite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/gifts).



Darhim watches Varlathu out of the corner of her eye. The other elf is very shy about offering her thoughts. Still very shy. Darhim’s fingers tap twice on the edge of the tool in her hands. She frowns.

Varlathu stays to the edges and backs of groups too. Always. Calm and composed. _Quiet._ To Darhim it is obvious. It is fear. Afraid to be noticed, to draw attention, to be heard or seen. It is not odd. Not for the newer recruits. But Varlathu is no longer new. In their small raiding party her behavior is, ironically, very noticeable. To Darhim. Even now, at the relative safety of their camp, Varlathu is back from the fire. Is sitting by herself at the base of a tree, alone. Smaller by staying in its shadow. 

Darhim understands the impulse. Darhim, herself, had her first taste of growing bolder after she was gifted to June. But bolder is not bold. That came harder to her. Boldness. Although June’s service had been safer for her than Sylaise’s, Darhim understands all too well the danger of being noticed in that world. And she is not Varlathu. Varlathu who lived with rank enough to think herself happy and safe under the illusion of the enanuvis’ protection. Varlathu who lived being told that creatures such as herself should be killed, on sight, for existing. 

Still, this is _not_ that world. They are traitors together now. Being seen is not death anymore than it is a prelude to abuse. Varlathu should be able to feel safe among them. The evidence that she does not aches. It is wrong. 

The rest of their people may be out to kill or capture them, but they are safe with one another. Except Varlathu starts to speak and will close her mouth. Stays still. Watches the others with wariness. Only Sethrevas, and sometimes Darhim herself, can get her to volunteer her thoughts.

Everyone feels safe with Sethrevas. Darhim will help Varlathu learn to feel safe with the rest of them. It is _important._

Darhim understands that sometimes even here and now, it can all become too much. How an unexpected hand on her elbow can make her freeze in her tracts, how sometimes she curls into a ball in a dark corner and shakes silently, weeping without sound. But, as much as she understands _that,_ Darhim also understands the value of being noticed. Of being _seen_. Of the freedom to be herself, openly. The joy of having eyes on her and being bold. Unhidden.

It is important. Feeling safe enough to _choose_ to be seen or not. To not have to hide.

She sets her repair work aside, carefully bundling her tools with it where they will not be lost, and slides her boots from her feet. The shift feels odd. It has been many years since she has done this. What her body was originally _made_ to do. But she has reclaimed herself from Sylaise. And June. And the rest of them. She belongs to no one but herself. And this? Well, this part of it she always enjoyed. Enjoys.

Darhim rises to her new feet, all the way onto the points of her toes and stretches her arms over her head, holding the pose as the others pause to look at her. On the other side of the fire, Alasvar leans back, a wide grin on their face that would have made Darhim cringe in Sylaise's court. But not here. Not with Alasvar, who only radiates joy when Darhim says no and does not push. Who is so glad that no is a safe thing to say, for both of them. All of them.

Slowly Darhim lowers her hands, tendrils of light trailing from her fingers. Then she begins to _dance_. She moves with such precision and skill she makes power and strength look delicate, as soft and flowing as the light still trailing from her fingers. She dances until she is in front of Varlathu, écarté, and offers her hand. “Dance with me?”

Varlathu blinks wide eyes at her. “I can’t,” she stammers. And in a way it is true: Varlathu’s body wasn’t made for this, wasn’t trained and perfected (and broken) to it. But she can do whatever she wants.

“I’ll keep you safe,” Darhim smiles. “Just do the best you can. But its fine if you don’t want to.” Varlathu, she knows, will say no to her if she means no. As uncomfortable as the other elf is with attention, it comes from a different place for her than for Darhim. From the bloody death that waits for Varlathu if she is ever recognized as what she is.

Slowly, Varlathu puts her hand in Darhim’s. Darhim steps backwards, leading Varlathu out in front of everyone, so all eyes are on them. Eyes that all know what Varlathu is. Carefully she spins her, pulls her close and flows around her. Varlathu dances stiff and proper with arms that snap like she is punching. Darhim carefully guides her body into more sensual motions, hands trailing over Varlathu’s skin in paths and little pushes that are more instructive than what it actually looks like Darhim is doing. But gentle. Instruction should not hurt.

“Sethrevas?” Darhim calls, holding out another hand.

Sethrevas, who has been radiating quiet pleasure, leaps to her feet and twirls over to them, filling the air with excitement. She is... stunning. And Darhim’s most regular partner when Darhim wants to dance, but Darhim stops her from their usual patterns with a slight shake of her head. Instead, she guides Sethrevas’ larger hand into Varlathu’s and slides herself around them both, guiding how they touch each other and move together. Showing Varlathu that Darhim is keeping her safe, keeping everything under her control.

Then Darhim spins Sethrevas away. “Alasvar?” she calls. 

One after another, she helps Varlathu dance with all of them, letting Varlathu learn how to touch and been seen while Darhim, and Sethrevas, are there to help. To stop it if it ever gets to be too much.

She is out of breath when they are done and Varlathu has started to smile. Just a little. Sethrevas fusses, happy to have a reason to take care of them that does not involve resetting bones and spelling flesh back other. She brings them all waterskins and crosses her massive arms over her chest glaring until everyone has drunk at least a sip.

“We could have all just slept together,” Alasvar grins at Darhim.

“No,” Darhim says, fondly, and sits down to let Alasvar wrap a sweaty arm around her shoulders.


End file.
